I'm Glad You're Here
by lukamonster
Summary: What happens after Owen sees Mark try and fail to pick up Cristina - this is an alternate version of Grey's where Owen does not suffer from PTSD


Story: "I'm Glad You're Back"  
Author:swedishloser  
Rating:PG/PG-13  
Disclaimer: These characters are property of Shonda Rhimes/ABC and Grey's Anatomy. They do not belong to me. Reimbursement is not recevied for fictitious works.  
Summary: What happens after Owen sees Mark try (and fail) to pick up Cristina, this is an alternate Grey's world where Owen is not dealing with PTSD.  
Author's Note: This is my very first fanfic - I've been lurking here for a little while and I've been floored by the amount of talent and creativity I've seen by all of the authors. It was just too inspiring so I thought I'd try to take a crack at it. I know that this piece is not totally fleshed out and I apologize for the Derek/Mark heavy opening, and the changing of their dialogue - I picked this scene because it was one of my favorite moments from the beginning of the season, but I needed to have it go a little faster. Please let me know what you think and how I can improve! I'm on pins and needles, I hope you like it!

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Mark Sloane was not one to back down from a challenge or a debt. And now he faced both in the cramped elevator he shared with his best friend. As soon as the doors slid shut Derek turned to him with an alarming favor; he wanted Mark to sleep with Cristina. "Should've taken the stairs," he thought to himself.

Shepherd knew that he was demeaning his friend, but the guy had slept with his ex-wife, before the "ex" part. Mentioning Mark's past with Addison was a low blow, but it was his best ace in the hole, and he really needed to get a whole night's sleep without his girlfriend's "person" and her constant late-night confessionals.

Derek watched Mark's face grimace as old guilt and new indignation battled it out inside of his head. Derek knew that he had one shot to make up Sloane's mind for him. "You know you don't have to," Derek said, smiling to himself, "if you think she's out of your league." Mark's vanity was Derek's greatest ally. Challenge accepted.

Sloane was aware of Cristina's reputation as being a ball-buster. Hell, he'd seen patients and colleagues (even grown men) brought to tears after five minutes of interaction with the woman. And if he hadn't seen it personally, he could have gathered as much from the relentless whispers and gossip that floated through the halls of Seattle Grace. It was like high school all over again. No matter who you heard it from, the sentiment was the same: Cristina Yang is not one to be fucked with.

But he'd handled frigid and frightening women before and was very confident about his ability to melt her down. He just had to decide on what approach he would choose out of his flirtation arsenal; some women liked the bad boy persona, some wanted a strong shoulder to cry on, and some were done in by a dirty, crooked smile. Cristina couldn't be that much different from those countless nurses and pilates instructors and flight attendants and… well, he knew this dance so well he could practically do it in his sleep. Derek would eat his words.

She was easy to spot across the room. He found her away from the group, isolated behind a desk. It was weird how she always had that distance around her. She was definitely kind of an oddball, but not totally unappealing. He'd gone after worse in his day. Actually, those drunken lessons were some of the most lasting ones earned during his med school years. And with Derek around, he was not able to forget some of his more embarrassing transgressions even a decade later. He'd have to remember to bring up some of Derek's greatest hits at the bachelor party. That very sweet and very persistent pre-op tranny that wouldn't take Derek's "no" for an answer came to mind.

But with his target spotted he needed to get his game face on. Blunt and direct would probably be the best tactic. How could she resist? He'd saunter up, she'd swoon, and he'd be firmly entrenched as a Seattle Grace legend. Piece of cake.

Mark approached the nurses' station with his God-given swagger and waited for his presence to be acknowledged by Cristina. He even whipped out his trademark sultry stare that had made him the man he was today.

Nothing.

"Easy, big guy," he thought to himself, "she'll look up as soon as she feels my animal magnetism."

Nothing. She was fixated on that stupid bedazzled pager the residents had all been fighting over. Most women would have handed Mark their underwear at this point, but Cristina was going to require a little more finesse. Still, it gave him pause that a woman existed that didn't have his every move locked onto her radar. He usually felt their eyes undressing him across lobbies and even during his exams. It was fun and, more often than not, reciprocated. But this one-sided engagement felt odd. He was a big fan of give-and-take and without a partner he was starting to feel really out of his element.

He lingered there for a few more exaggerated moments before clearing his throat subtly to let her know he was watching her. Her obliviousness shook him up a little, but he set his resolve and was more determined now than he had been before. Not only did he want to prove Derek wrong, but he didn't want to give Yang the satisfaction of being the only woman to turn him down. He was Mark Sloane, dammit!

"Dr. Yang," he began, a little bit louder than he'd intended, "I was hoping you'd assist me with my patient. He's…" Mark stopped midsentence when he realized she still hadn't acknowledged his presence. He was starting to get really freaked out by this. No woman had been this aloof or distracted while he was around. "She's gotta be gay," he thought, "or a robot."

"Dr. Yang? Did you hear me?"

"Huh? I'm sorry, did you need something?" She looked up at him without really seeing him; she was obviously somewhere else.

Definitely a robot.

"Dr. Yang, I was just thinking about how stunning you looked today. It's pretty distracting, but I really need some help with a patient and I'd love it if you would assist me. I need another set of skilled hands for a particularly difficult facial reconstruction." He knew she couldn't resist a compliment _and_ the opportunity to assist on anything gruesome. Checkmate.

"Actually, I just got a trauma page. They need me there right now. Sorry."

And with that she loped away leaving Mark dumbstruck. He stared after her vacantly, mouth slightly agape, shocked by what had just occurred. He was rooted to the same spot, replaying the whole encounter in his head, trying to figure out what went wrong, when Derek stepped out from behind a pillar across the room. Derek knew this was going to be priceless so he'd hid himself so he could see and hear the whole thing. At one point he even had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing so hard he gave away his position. It couldn't have gone better than if he'd planned it. Of course he knew Cristina wouldn't get all moony and weak-kneed for Mark, but he had to admit that even he was surprised with how little Sloane's charm had affected her. The janitor might have had a better shot. Definite ball-buster.

While Derek tried to simultaneously commiserate with his friend and laugh uncontrollably at his humiliation, Cristina dashed across the hospital with the unabashed excitement of a kid on Christmas morning. She was ready to get into a juicy trauma; bring on the bodies, the bloodier the better. She'd hoped there would be missing limbs. As she let her mind float into that morbid reverie her brain failed to alert her to the solid form that stepped out into the hallway and rerouted her into an on-call room. It would have been a really cool and graceful snatch-and-grab if she hadn't been going at almost top speed when they collided. Even so, her petite frame barely ricocheted off of a very muscular torso, but before she could fall back she was swept up into wonderfully warm arms and ushered through the open doorway.

Her mystery goalie spun her away from himself while he turned to close the door. It took her only a few seconds to reorient herself and start to demand what the hell was going on.

Owen stood there with the beginnings of a smug smile on his face. He loved watching her skin when it flushed with excitement or anger. He remembered the color that appeared when she was aroused and he hoped to God that he would see it again before too long.

His tour in Iraq had kept him away for these last few months, but his thoughts came back to this place more often than he cared to admit. Once he was stateside it had not been a hard decision to come back here and accept the job offer. In fact, it didn't really feel like a decision at all. The day he landed he went straight from the airport to the hospital; his body steered his truck without any commands from his consciousness. It was only when he cut the engine and had his keys in his hand that he realized where he was. He got out of the truck and headed across the familiar parking lot to complete the mission he'd set for himself without realizing it. He marched straight up to the Chief's office and 15 minutes later he was back outside with a copy of his new employment contract. This was going to be his home for the next year. Back in the cab of his truck, Owen exhaled sharply. He wasn't aware of it, but he'd been holding his breath the whole time he'd been in the building. He understood now how much he was anticipating seeing her again. He had seen her image so many times in the desert that he almost believed he could summon her on command. He was surprised at how disappointed he'd been when it hadn't worked that day.

His first few days had been completely normal and bland; he met new nurses and colleagues and found the coffee cart. He'd almost thought signing the contract had been a mistake when he finally caught a glimpse of her. It was a vast relief to see that his imagination had not exaggerated her beauty or her fire. He watched from afar while she and her friends bickered and laughed together. It was amazing to see her again and it was torture to wonder whether or not she had moved onto someone new in his absence.

That's why today, after two weeks of carefully watching her movements and avoiding too close of contact, he finally snapped. He watched that sleazy plastic surgeon approach her and try dismally to chat her up. Owen was inside a room with a front row view of the whole scene, the only thing he couldn't see was her face. Before Sloane had shown up that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Owen was working of course, but whenever he could steal a glance of her graceful back and delicate neck he would. In fact, Owen was just enjoying a small fantasy about wrapping his hands in her hair and kissing every inch of that porcelain skin, when that tool came over. Owen could see that things were comically stalled, but that didn't stop the burning wave of jealousy that washed over him. It was like a bull seeing red and he suddenly didn't want to wait any longer, to risk any other idiot being lucky enough to be allowed into her life. That's why Owen faked the trauma page. He needed to see her _privately_. STAT.

Owen knew he had to get a head-start so that he could head her off before she actually arrived to the empty ambulance bay. He imagined she'd be the type of doctor that wouldn't let go of that disappointment easily and thought he shouldn't punish the unsuspecting ER doctors and staff with Cristina's unearned wrath. Luckily, Owen was an explorer at heart. He'd spent his down time at the hospital searching out hallways and corridors just to see where they all ended up. He imagined part of this was due to his hyper-active survival instincts; in case of a fire or an earthquake he'd be prepared to get out quickly and help others do so, but mostly it was the mystery of the journey. He could discover new things or overlooked spaces or just escape by himself. Right now, however, he didn't want to be alone, and he knew just the right few corridors that would lead him to the most secluded place the building had to offer. He just hoped he'd get there before she did.

"What the hell is your problem, man?!" She repeated. "A trauma just got in! They need me down there!"

"Um, yeah, about that…," he stammered, "I, uh, I paged you." He wanted to keep his eyes glued on his own shoes, to avoid her incredulous glare, but something told him that that would just piss her off more. It was funny for him to feel like a little kid about to be in trouble, though. No one outside of his mother had ever cowed him so quickly, and he barely knew Cristina.

"You paged me? With a fake trauma? Why?" She was quickly remembering what it felt like to be in a room alone with this man and it was starting to disturb her how much she wanted to reach behind him and lock the door. "Keep it together, Christina," she thought to herself.

"I needed…," he stopped himself because he didn't know if this was the time to be completely honest or if that kind of confession would scare her off. Owen knew that he was kind of an intense guy, he'd had bad experiences with women before by sharing too much too quickly. But this connection was indescribable. He knew he had no claim on Cristina; he'd left her after one earth-shattering kiss and had barely acknowledged her since his return. He was too scared to hear that it hadn't meant anything to her, or that she hadn't thought of him since, or worse than anything else, she was in love with someone else. How could he expect to explain what he was feeling whenever he looked at her? How could he expect her to feel the same way?

"I needed to talk to you," he said lamely. His clear blue eyes hinted at the tension of his words. She was surprised to hear the word _need_ come out of his mouth so directly. It felt like he was pleading with her.

She was a little surprised by this sudden attention. Since his return, Owen hadn't really noticed her. She was disappointed in herself for being hurt by that at first. Of course, she chastised herself, it hadn't meant as much to him as it did to her. She figured he was the love-'em-and-leave-'em type with a girl in every port and all of those stupid clichés. He had come into her life unexpectedly and left just as suddenly.

It's not like she could forget him even if she wanted to, if their kiss hadn't left a mark, then the freakin' icicle she'd been impaled with certainly had. In the shower she'd often trace the scar absentmindedly thinking of everything that had transpired that night. The warm water splashing over her reminded her of his strong, rough hands as they urgently grazed over her neck and face, like a blind man groping to see. She'd actually racked up record breaking water bills for her long shower reveries. Callie didn't mind too much; she saw how lonely Cristina had been since Burke. Cristina had not mentioned the majority of what had happened with Owen to anyone, not even Meredith. It was odd, she knew that it was just a small moment, but she didn't really want to share it, to speak it out loud. It felt too fragile to pass around, for some inexplicable reason she just wanted to keep it close to her, to pull it out when she was alone. She was surprised by how fluttery she felt on the day she found out that he'd be coming back to Seattle Grace. Actually, she'd been kind of fluttery every day since then, but she'd die before she'd admit to every experiencing such an idiotic emotion. And here they were again. And the fluttery sickness swept over her, to her disgust.

"What did you want to talk about, Dr. Hunt?" She'd purposely tried to keep things professional, at least on the surface, but she realized that might be a bit ridiculous since they were in the middle of a spontaneously planned interlude for which he'd practically kidnapped her. Suddenly she thought about how hysterical it must have looked to anyone who saw her ram full-speed into an attending who then just pushed her into the on-call room. They hadn't been in there for very long, but she couldn't even think of what she'd tell anyone who asked what had happened. She honestly still didn't know what was happening. An unconscious smile played at her lips while she was thinking about how funny the whole situation was.

That smile undid him. All of his desires and memories flooded over him and before he knew it he had crossed the distance between them and his mouth was affixed to hers. His arms snaked around her waist and behind her back crushing her body to his. Without thinking she had her hands behind his head pushing their faces even harder together. Her fingers ran up the back of his neck and played through his hair. He let out a groan that rumbled deep in his chest at the sensation. She smiled at his reaction and tried to mentally capture all of the details of this moment – his smell, his stubble, his hands, oh God, his hands. They had found their way up to her neck and face and left burning trails wherever they touched.

What the hell was happening?

He was the first to pull away – using every fiber of his self-restraint to pry his hands off of her. It was like asking a drowning person to give up their air tank. He backed away from her until he felt the cold strength of the door behind him. She took a cue from him and found a seat at the edge of the on-call bed. Under the circumstances she thought it best to be sitting. She didn't really trust her legs right now.

"Cristina, I mean, Dr. Yang," he began, "I just wanted to speak with you because I know I haven't really had a chance to since my return. And in all honesty, I saw Mark Sloane try to pick you up just now and I couldn't stand it." So much for holding things back. "I know I left pretty suddenly last time, but I guess I was hoping that there might be something here for us to pursue."

So many things had just happened that Cristina sat silently for a moment to process it all. Her lips were a little bruised already and her heart was starting to slow back down. To her embarrassment, her cheeks were still noticeably flushed, which made her blush more. He waited for her response; he was physically still, but inside his head he berated himself for being so stupid and impulsive. He had never had that problem before, in every other area of his life he was the master of control, but when he saw her it was all over. Finally, she locked eyes with him and spoke.

"So, let me get this straight – you pull out a stranger's icicle, make out with her, leave for months, reappear, ignore the same woman, then fake page her to make out with her again so that another man can't hit on her?" She didn't want to seem like she was making fun of him, but under the circumstances she just wanted to tally up their experiences to illustrate how convoluted it all seemed.

He was game to point out how stupid it all seemed, hell, he was just glad she had kissed him back _again_. "That's right, Dr. Yang."

"Cristina," she corrected him.

"Cristina," he repeated with a smile, "I thought a lot about you and I'd be really pissed at myself if I spent any more time wondering about how you felt instead of just asking you. I'm not really used to being this…discombobulated. You, you make it difficult for me to think about other things. You make it difficult for me to concentrate," he chuckled softly, "and my work is suffering." He knew the last bit sounded really stupid and whiny, but it was true. She consumed his thoughts and he'd never be able to move on until he figured out where they stood.

She was floored that he would share such a vulnerable statement. It was really unexpected, but then again everything he did was unexpected. Part of her was sorely tempted to let whatever this was sweep her away, and then the pragmatic side of her personality awoke. She started to run through all of the disastrous scenarios that could happen if she followed this road again. Cristina tried to learn from her mistakes and her self-preservation instinct told her that she would not be able to survive another heartbreak. She knew that a casual relationship was not possible with Owen Hunt. Every cell in her body was aware of him as he stood brooding in the corner waiting for her answer. Her mind kept telling her the safest course for her was a solitary one.

"Owen," she began softly, "I'm not…" she stopped herself before she could do the pragmatic thing and lie about her attraction to him. She watched him study her and felt more appreciated and wanted than she'd ever known was possible. She quickly decided to take a leap of faith on him, "I'm not interested in Mark Sloane." She flashed him a wicked smile and hoped he'd understand the subtext of her declaration.

He lit up instantly, but she could tell he wasn't allowing himself a major celebration yet. She still hadn't hinted to how she felt about him.

She slowly lifted the right corner of her periwinkle scrub top to expose the soft pale skin of her abdomen. She stopped when the light pink scar was visible. He walked over to stand before her and gently reached out to trace the shiny line with his fingertips.

"You don't have to be jealous of plastic surgeons or anyone else. I've carried this around and have thought about you every day since you left." She hadn't wanted to be so honest, so exposed, but there was something about the way he looked at her that made lies, even little white ones, impossible. She watched the emotions play out over his face – she saw him relax, she saw his relief and then she saw his lust.

He grabbed the shirt bunched in her hands and tugged it off of her head in a fluid motion. His mouth once again found hers and they celebrated their reunion without thoughts of the consequences or the curious onlookers that would be gathered outside of their door afterwards.

"I'm glad you're back." She whispered to his bare chest.


End file.
